The Birds at Night
by miss pluto
Summary: She had no desire to change the world. But she also couldn't ignore the pale, bespectacled face that greeted her every morning. [SI-OC.]


Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of its characters, ideas, or concepts: such belongs to J.K. Rowling.

Warning: ( _future_ ) crude language and possibly dark topics. (Death is quite relevant in this first snippet, as it would seem.)

Please read the author's note at the end!

* * *

The human brain is quite adept at deceiving itself. In fact, the mind is a foolish, foolish thing, that holds far too much faith in its own values. More often than not, a person can close their eyes and plug their ears, can shout " _I can't hear you_!" and turn away from common sense— and it works. People fling themselves into voids of self-reassurance and denial and simply refuse to believe what reality proves to be true.

We humans think we're untouchable. Everyone knows they'll die eventually, of course— it's a fact of life. You're born, you live, you die. Simple as that, one after the other.

But no one really thinks about it happening, you know? Facing death boils down to perpetual procrastination on behalf of the entire human race, just as a student would shove off their essay until the day before the deadline. Death is always _later_. I'm alive today, and I'll probably be alive tomorrow, so why think about it now? I'll deal with it tomorrow, or the day after that, or the next day, or the next week, or year, or never. Until it's far too late.

It's a trial to think through, anyways. It's not a simple idea to work through: it's not a basic point of thought, not like saying " _oh, yes, hmm, the grass is quite green today_ ". Because death is a marble that shatters the flimsy glass of a person's existence. Death is a constant, death is an ocean of poison and fear that haunts the lonely soul who stands on life's beach— the tide causing the water to rise and fall, to nip at the person's heels, and to finally drown them when the time comes. Death is, to put it simply, a complexity.

So we ignore it. And perhaps, it is a sin, perhaps it is a _crime_ , but it's simply human nature. Ignorance is the eighth deadly sin of the human race. We shun the taboo idea of dying and the stigma that latches to its side. Death is the shadow that crawls in our steps: it always follows our existence, is always _there_ — but more often than not, we show it our backs. We refuse to look it in the eye.

I am no different.

I wish I could tell you that I went in a valiant way. That I screamed in defiance of the world's injustice and choked on my own blood, that I faced death like it was an old pal or rebelled against it the entire way. Or, perhaps, I died with a smile on my face, knowing that I lived a good, whole life. (That would be such a nice, nice story, wouldn't it?)

And now, that's the _thing_ about dying. The thing everybody gets wrong in the movies.

There's no time to reminisce on your fondest memories, or contemplate your bitter demise, or any finite, neat line of thought, for that matter, when you're dying. Despite all the epics where the protagonist gives a single tear as they have a mental PowerPoint presentation of their greatest hits and the villains who give a final speech as they slowly bleed out:

There's just no time for it.

Death is too much for our pathetic little minds to handle. (Perhaps, that's why we avoid thinking about it at all until it's too late.) It completely turns over the human thought process— almost like overloading a computer system. There's so much information swirling through one human mind— memories, emotions, _the thought of death_ — that it simply shuts down. A star that burns brighter than it ever has just before it fizzles out of existence. There's no time for remembering. For thinking. It's a few seconds of _I'm dying, I'm dying, I'm dying_ in a hellish cycle. A few _where does it go from here_ and _I could have done so much more_ tossed in and—

And then, just like that, just a _simple_ as that, you're dead.

* * *

[author's note]

Whilst I always knew I'd probably write a self-insert fanfiction at one point or another, actually publishing this makes it all too real, you know? I've always enjoyed reading these, so I thought I would give it a try.

Anyhow, I realize this isn't much to start with, _simply_ a jumbled mess of metaphors about death, though I hope all those who read it found it enjoyable. If not, feel free to swing by and give me a few reasons why so I can improve my writing in the future. More content that contains actual plot and characters is to come. (though when I couldn't tell you.) I'm not too sure where this story is headed— let us hope it's some place nice.


End file.
